


let's party toe-night

by queermccoy



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bad Puns, Ben Hanscom Deserves Nice Things, Exhibitionism, Foot Jobs, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Public Sex, Shame, Socks, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy
Summary: He kicks at the bulge in the middle of the drooping hammock, where Richie’s ass is. It doesn’t upset him in least. He laughs and adjusts his glasses, looking at Eddie with glittering eyes. He’s laughing at him, not with him, and it makes Eddie see red.“Why don’t you—!” Eddie starts but Stan interrupts, tone crisp enough to dry out the air around him.“Just crawl into the hammock, you’ll both fit.”Eddie narrows his eyes and behind him, Mike snorts.or, Eddie gives Richie a foot job.#reddieweek2020 day 6: hammock
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 131
Collections: Reddie Week 2020





	let's party toe-night

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: 
> 
> Underage sex, age undermined but still high school. Homophobia is real but not a pressing issue for Eddie in this fic because I ran out of time. Bad bee metaphors. Bad puns. Richie Tozier's foot fetish is Real. Eddie lies to himself and to you and then tells the truth. Public outing. Public sex. Unnegotiated kink. Ben is the nicest boy in the whole world. Humidity. Unbeta'ed and rushed, hardly makes sense.

Summer days spent in the clubhouse are a godsend to Eddie, who hates the humidity and would rather die than spend all day in the library with Ben and Mike and the air conditioner. Underground is dry, to a point, and roughly a millions times cooler than it is on the surface. 

He spends more time down there than anywhere else during the summers after _It_ happened. The six kids, his friends, his best friends, he’d spent all his time with _that summer_ all remain his top favorite people of all time. Most of the time they go with Eddie when he suggests, in a way that isn’t really a suggestion, but is close enough for plausible deniability, that they go to the clubhouse. 

The clubhouse is innocuous, the clubhouse is apolitical and conflict free. Everyone has something to do at the clubhouse, people to talk with, things that they like. The shower cap thing is stupid, Eddie agrees with Richie on that, but the spiders aren’t so bad and it’s fun to poke at Stan and call him a wet blanket when he wears his. He does ask (read: shout at) Mike to kill the spiders when they do crawl into his hair, but Mike doesn’t. He catches them and then releases them outside, big hands curled around the spindly monsters. 

(“Do you want a race of super spiders, Eds? Because that’s what will happen if you keep killing the dumb ones,” Richie says, pointing a finger at Eddie like he’s a schoolmarm.

Eddie scoffs and looks to Mike, climbing back down the ladder for support. Clearly, Richie is full of shit.

“No, he’s right.” Mike nods solemnly and it gives Eddie pause. Richie is always full of shit. Mike is only occasionally full of shit. 

Thinking very seriously about the nature of spider evolution, Eddie rubs his chin. When he looks back at Mike, he and Richie are in silent stitches, laughing at him. 

“Wow, fuck off the both of you!” Eddie yells and it makes them laugh out loud, hands slapping knees. 

“H-hey, Eds!” Richie giggles. “Hey, Eds, gullible’s written on the ceiling.” 

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and harrumphs, little lip poking out, arms crossed over his chest. 

Assholes.)

Eddie’s point is, they all like the club house and it makes the sense that that’s where they spend the most time in the summer. He thinks that’s a very rational, very logical conclusion to make. He brow beats them all into submission, usually Richie who would rather be at the arcade, or Bill who would rather be riding bikes, and they all spend many merry hours down underground.

Today is no exception. 

The Losers are spending this hideous and syrupy hot day in the clubhouse with the hatch thrown open because it isn’t like Patrick Hockstetter or Henry Bowers are coming after them anymore, what with one being super dead and the other one being super as-good-as-dead. So, they keep the hatch open for light, but it’s such a disgusting, endless sort of day that the sun is fully in hiding behind thick, bulbous clouds just waiting to piss rain when they least expect it. Eddie is upset about this. He is irate. Even the relative coolness of the clubhouse can soothe him. 

This manic bleariness is what compels him to, even though they haven’t had assigned hammock time in ages, demand that Richie has overstayed his welcome in the hammock tied between two poles in their secret underground clubhouse. He digs in his heels and squares his shoulders and tells Richie, “You need to move, your turn is over.” 

“What, no,” Richie replies. He flips the page in an X-Men comic he’s reading and doesn’t bother to look at Eddie when he’s speaking to him. 

“Yes, you’ve been in there forever! It’s time to give it up!” Eddie insists, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in his best impression of his mother.

Bev laughs somewhere to his left, but Eddie doesn’t hear her, really. He has zeroed in on Richie hogging that hammock as the most important thing in the world. No, the most important thing in the universe. This is a wrong that Eddie needs to right. 

He curls his fingers around one of the ropes tying the hammock to the pole closest to him, closest to the trap door, and yanks on it. His hope is that the force from his pull will send Richie careening to the floor. 

That is not what happens. 

Instead, he wobbles the hammock and Richie closes his eyes like he’s being lulled to sleep. He even makes the sleep noises from Saturday morning cartoons. Somehow, he does this without moving his lips, which Eddie would find impressive if he wasn’t incensed. As it is, it makes him feel like he’s lost touch with reality.

He kicks at the bulge in the middle of the drooping hammock, where Richie’s ass is. It doesn’t upset him in least. He laughs and adjusts his glasses, looking at Eddie with glittering eyes. He’s laughing at him, not with him, and it makes Eddie see red. 

“Why don’t you—!” Eddie starts but Stan interrupts, tone crisp enough to dry out the air around him.

“Just crawl into the hammock, you’ll both fit.” 

Eddie narrows his eyes and behind him, Mike snorts. Unable to stop himself, Eddie whips his hand around behind his back and flips Mike off, wrinkling his nose and his eyebrows at Stan for good measure. 

“I’m an adult, Stanley,” Richie sniffs. “There’s no way there’s room enough in this thing for my huge, grown up body, even for someone as miniature as Eds.” 

Bev, from Eddie’s left, opposite of Mike, says, “Ooo!” like a mean girl in a teen drama. 

“God, shut up!” Eddie snaps, toeing off his shoes. He doesn’t give Richie much warning before he’s tossing his leg over the fabric of the hammock, digging his socked feet into Richie’s soft middle. 

“Ow, fuck! Eddie!” Richie whines. Eddie ignores him and settles in, shoulders shimmying while he gets comfortable.

“F-finally, maybe now you guys will shut up,” Bill mutters and Eddie doesn’t deign to respond. Richie rolls his eyes and slaps his knee against Eddie’s as punishment for crawling into the hammock with him. 

Truly, they are too large to fit in it together. They were _that_ summer too, but with _It_ running around, it just never seemed like a priority to Eddie to care about stuff like that. Nothing really mattered that summer other than the clown, his fake asthma, and the insane feeling he got whenever he thought about Richie resetting his arm with no training or medical degree in sight. 

Everything else is background noise. 

Today though, it is painfully obvious that they are just barely fitting in here together. Eddie is sitting with his knees up, legs on their side of one of Richie’s, Richie’s legs on either side of one of his. It’s tight, it’s uncomfortable. Richie keeps wriggling to keep from touching him too much, but as far as Eddie is concerned it’s unavoidable. 

Around them, since Eddie had appeared, on the surface, to settle down, their friends break off into their smaller groups. Bill and Mike talk about bike ramps, probably (they should build higher ones, Eddie thinks. They’re more fun when they’re high), and Bev and Stan and Ben talk about a movie they want to see soon (Eddie does not want to see it. There’s an actor who looks like Mr. Tozier in it and possibly seeing him kiss someone? Yuck, just thinking about that makes his stomach hurt). 

Eddie didn’t really consider what would happen next. Now that he is in the hammock, he doesn’t have anything to do. He could steal Richie’s comic book, but that’s not exactly fair. He could bite his nails, but his mom says he could get sick from that so probably not. But then again, she’s full of shit, so maybe he would be fine. He could think about his English homework. AP English is advanced enough that there is _summer homework_ , which he thinks should be illegal. But he has at least a month to go and he doesn’t want to waste valuable summer fun time on that garbage. 

Eddie rocks his knee back and forth while he thinks, absent minded. There’s something a lumpy on the top of his jiggling foot, but he barely notices it. He’s busy thinking very hard about what to do next. 

While he’s still mulling it over, chewing on his lip and tapping his fingers erratically against his jittery knee, Richie must decide he’s had enough because he wraps his hand around Eddie’s calf to still him, fingers burning hot on his bare skin. When Eddie glances over, scandalized by the action and by how nice his hand feels even though it’s clammy (which is perplexing and annoying and he’s angry about it), Richie isn’t looking at him. He is resolutely staring at his comic book. It’s upside down. 

Eddie scoots forward just a little and leans in quite a lot and that’s when he feels it. Richie Tozier’s boner. 

He hadn’t noticed it before, when it was just a lump barely brushing the top of his foot, but now that he knows what it is, he is electrically aware of it. Eddie is frozen in place. 

“Richie,” he starts, but then stops. Eddie rotates his ankle, the one attached to the foot nestled under Richie’s hard on. 

He looks over at Richie, from under his lashes, and bites his lip. Richie has his eyes squeezed shut, so like through-his-lashes-glance is wasted, and he’s bent over, almost protectively, at the waist. Eddie is in awe. He doesn’t think twice before he draws his knee closer to his chest, dragging the top of his foot over Richie’s hard cock again. He lets out a shuddering breath. They both do.

“Eds,” Richie says, eyes popping open and glancing wildly around the room. He doesn’t look at Eddie, which Eddie thinks is rude. He taps on the bulge in Richie’s jean shorts with his big toe, almost like a ball tap but (hopefully) sexier. 

“What the fuck?” Richie’s are wide and practically vibrating when he does finally focus on Eddie. He’s gawking, unblinking and honestly kind of creepy. Eddie dips his chin and shoots his eyebrows up his forehead. He pointedly casts his eyes down to his foot, almost touching Richie’s dick, and then back up to his face. He quirks one of his raised eyebrows even higher. 

In response, Richie gulps. He sucks in air like a vacuum and sets his comic book down over his lap and slides down a little in the hammock. His dick is closer to Eddie’s foot now, and he rubs his toes over the hard line of his cock, a vicious glee spotting in his chest and bursting out when Richie bites his lips together. 

He looks cute like this, Eddie thinks. His hair isn’t sweaty, but it is wilting in the humid air, curling against his forehead, falling into his eyes. Richie’s glasses have fallen down his nose and he won’t fix them because both hands are busy holding the comic over his shame. His broad shoulders are bent, making camp up by his ears. His face is open, fully open, in a way Eddie has never seen it. He wiggles his toes and likes the way Richie’s Adam’s apple moves under the sunburnt skin of his throat. 

Eddie isn’t sure how subtle they’re being. Around them, their friends are chattering, walking around. He ignores them all, eyes on Richie and only Richie. Pulling off this feat requires him to wrap a hand around Richie’s knee and use his body for leverage to work his socked foot over Richie’s cock. He uses his toes, the arch, even grinding his heel in. Richie chokes on nothing when he does that, coughing and sputtering to recover, gasping for breath. 

“You o-okay, Rich?” Bill asks, concerned. Richie looks away from Eddie and nods. People are looking at them now and if they get found out, Eddie’s not really sure what would happen. He’s hard in his own shorts, but that isn’t a priority for him at the moment. Jerking Richie off with his feet is, which is probably the weirdest thing he’s ever let himself think. If they get caught though, they’d both be hard and it could potentially be a disaster. 

Eddie spirals, thinking about all the varied and different horrible endings this story could have. All the ways his friends would or could react. They wouldn’t be wrong. It is pretty gross to do weird sex stuff while your buddies are in the room. Eddie is about 79% sure that Bill fingered Bev at the quarry once last summer though, so it’s not like there isn’t a precedence for this sort of thing. He isn’t sure his friends would feel the same way about this.

“Oh, I’m right as rain, Billy boy,” Richie says. He doesn’t sound like Eddie has his cock cradled in the arch of his foot. He sounds totally unaffected. Eddie wriggles and moves his other leg until it’s resting over Richie’s arm, foot on the fabric up by his head. The angle pulls Eddie’s shorts tight against his lap, but he ignores it and uses his heel to tug at the collar of Richie’s shirt. 

Richie bats at his ankle as Bill shrugs and moves back to wherever he was before he so rudely decided to interrupt. Richie fixes Eddie with a stern look, which Eddie returns mockingly. He coasts his foot over Richie’s dick and pushes the other one into the side of his face, leg angled in such a way that his toes end up under Richie’s eye and his heel ends up under his nose. Then Richie does something Eddie doesn’t expect. 

He breathes in, shaking, nostrils flaring. His eyes flutter shut. Blissed out. 

What the fuck. 

Eddie squishes his foot into Richie’s face hard, eyes bugging out of his head as if to articulate the very full, strange feeling in his chest. Richie blushes, red and hot and not at all delicately or cute but hot? So hot. Eddie wasn’t sure he thought anyone was hot, but he looks at Richie with his worse-than-a-sun-burn red face and thinks, oh, this is what people are talking about when they say someone is hot. Eddie presses him again, the foot on his cheek not the one on his cock, and shakes his head while he eyes continue to bug. 

Richie shrugs, cants his hips up into the curve of Eddie’s foot and sniffs at the one on his face. Eddie blinks and can’t seem to move on from it even as he resumes rolling his ankle and working Richie’s clothed cock with his toes. 

His socks aren’t filthy, necessarily. He put them on this morning and they were fresh from his sock and underwear drawer. His feet have been sweating though and the fabric is just a little damp in the way socks get sometimes. Eddie doesn’t see how that could be seen as sexy, but Richie full body shudders when Eddie slides his toes under the bulge in his shorts and rocks the top of his foot against his trapped cock and tucks his other toes over his glasses and presses his big toe over his eyebrow. 

That bodily reaction makes the hammock sway, like maybe they’re on a far away sandy beach instead of stuck underground. Eddie has never been to a sandy beach and he isn’t sure he would like it. He doesn’t like gritty things, doesn’t like the texture, even if he doesn’t mind dirt, especially since he learned that you probably can’t get sick from it unless you eat it, and he’s not about to eat dirt! Gross! 

Eddie thinks about sand and dirt and rocking gently in a breeze to keep from full on creaming his shorts. Something about making Richie’s breath catch. The way he looks, biting his lips, his hard cock under Eddie’s foot, makes his skull fill with bees. His hand on Richie’s knee is a claw, clipped fingernails digging into dusty skin. He wants to touch himself but he can’t so he channels all of that energy, all of that ferocity, into making Richie feel good, giving Richie a good time. Ben laughs about something and Eddie grinds the arch of his foot into the side of Richie’s cock, moving his foot from one end of his dick lump to the other. 

Eddie moves himself, gets situated in such a way that his heel is at where he assumes the base of Richie’s cock sits and presses down hard while juggling his ankle, vibrating his foot. He sticks the middle toes of his other foot right up Richie’s nose, his breath hot and wet against his arch. 

“Ack!!” Richie exclaims, rocketing forward and bending both of Eddie’s legs into ribbon candy. 

“What the fuck is going on over there?” Bev demands. Thinking quickly, Eddie rolls off the hammock, landing hard on his side and thankfully not on his diamond hard dick. 

“Shit, Richie!” Eddie shouts, scrambling to sit up and sit with his knees against his chest, praying for Richie to play along. “You didn’t have to push me out!”

He’s afraid to look at anyone, but he glances up and sees Ben’s concern, Mike’s critical eye. Stan has his arms crossed over his chest, looking like a smaller, blonder version of his father. Bev and Bill are staring at Richie, so Eddie looks too, slowly turning his head, afraid of what’s just out of sight. 

Richie has both knees up, like he’s protecting his belly, and he’s slid almost to the middle of the hammock. He is swaying violently and making no move to slow his back-and-forth. The comic he was reading is now crushed between his legs and his chest, covering his lap. He is the exact color of Campbell’s tomato soup. 

“You didn’t have to stick your nasty-ass feet in my face either, but here we are!” Richie's voice is high and thin and reedy. More so than usual, even. His eyes are a round behind his glasses, afraid and embarrassed and not hiding it very well. 

“Let’s go to the quarry,” Ben suggests. “It’s hot and we’re all a little irritable—”

“No, Eddie is irritating. We’re all just living with it,” Stan says. 

Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but Bill jumps in, hands up between Eddie and Stan, “I think that’s a great idea, Ben. Let’s go to the quarry.” 

Bev is already halfway up the ladder, having advocated for the quarry hours ago but having ultimately given in to spend the day at the clubhouse due to Eddie’s suggestion (read: demand). She stops just at the top and looks over her shoulder. She makes direct eye contact with Eddie and says, “I know it’s _hard_ , but maybe don’t be so much of a _dick_ once and awhile.” 

“You should be able to _cock_ -tribute more to the group than just, you know, _jerking_ us around,” Mike adds, stopping to choke on his own laughter.

Eddie looks between them, nose wrinkled and mouth in a tight line. He doesn’t look back at Richie but he’s known him for so long that he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what face he’s making. Deer-in-the-headlights-about-to-be-run-over. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Bev’s giggles follow her out the hatch and so does Bill. He’s shaking his head at them, like he’s disappointed but again, he fingered Bev at the quarry last year, so he doesn’t have any room to complain. Eddie’s 96% sure he did, anyway. 

Stan huffs and glares at Mike, for some reason, and then at Eddie, making his disapproval known without saying a word, classic Stan. At this point Eddie is fairly certain that they all know he was getting Richie off while they were in the room. Stan rips off his shower cap, throwing it at Eddie. Because it’s so light, it never hits him. Instead, it floats to the floor daintily and Stan groans. Waving it off, clearly annoyed, he mounts the first rung of the ladder and then heads on up.

Before Stan’s pristine sneakers fully disappear from view, Mike grins at Eddie, wolfish, and then says to Richie, “I guess you guys are going to be thinking about this _toe_ -night, huh?” 

“Corny,” Richie mumbles. When Eddie looks at him, he has his face buried in his knees. His ears are lobster red and Eddie wishes he knew what to say that would make him feel better. As it is, Eddie feels like he’s being boiled alive with embarrassment himself. His cock is still so hard in his shorts though and if Mike and Ben don’t leave in like, 30 seconds, he’s going to give them an eyeful. 

Mike laughs at them again, not meanly, just delighting in their misery the way only a true friend can. He reaches out and ruffles Eddie’s humidity damp hair on his way to the ladder and Eddie has to bite back a moan at how good it feels for someone to touch him right now. 

Ben, the last of the other Losers and one of Eddie’s favorite people in the world unless he doesn’t leave in the next five seconds, opens his mouth and says, “I love you guys. You are valid and I have gay uncles so I know you’re good people who just love differently.” 

Richie makes a sound like a cockroach, hissing and high pitched. Eddie can’t possibly look at him in this moment. He’s never really thought of himself as gay before. He did just get hard jerking his friend off though. He did look at his friend and finally understand the nature of attraction and why people have it in the first place. He’s probably gay. 

“Anyway,” Ben continues, wincing in Richie’s general direction. “I love you guys, but maybe you don’t share the hammock anymore?” 

The noises coming from Richie’s direction sound agreeing, but still insect-like. Eddie wrinkles his nose. He can’t seem to stop doing that today. Sweat drips down his neck. 

He looks over at Richie, finally, and sees how small he is, damp hair squished into the skin of his knees and thinks, well he’s certainly fucked this all up. 

“I can’t make any promises,” Eddie says, with confidence he doesn’t have. Richie’s head pops up so fast Eddie’s afraid he strained his neck. 

“Really?” Richie’s voice is hoarse and his eyes are red behind his majorly smudged glasses. He looks so gross. Eddie sort of wants to kiss him. 

“Again, all the love in the world. Your lives are valid. I’m leaving, please wait until I’m gone to have this conversation, goodbye!” Ben yells, running up the ladder as fast as his state championship wrestler legs will carry him. 

“I have a huge crush on you, can I please touch your dick?” Richie says this all in one breath and he isn’t even finished with his sentence before Eddie is rushing back into the hammock, one hand on the fabric to steady himself and the other tugging down his running shorts. 

“I thought they would never fucking leave,” Eddie groans and then grunts when Richie wraps his nasty, clammy fingers around Eddie’s cock, bursting free from his formidable thatch of pubic hair. 

“Jesus, how are you this hairy?” Richie mutters, licking his right hand before replacing his left on Eddie’s cock. Something about how Richie just had to touch him, even though he wasn’t ready yet, is just— it blows Eddie’s mind. It makes the bees in his skull go crazy. 

“I don’t know, please just—” Eddie doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, can’t get the words out so he wraps his own damp fingers around Richie’s and they jerk him off together, fingers interlocking around his dick. It’s the first time they’ve held hands. 

The bees in Eddie's skull all drop dead, fall into a pile and die as he realizes they haven’t kissed yet. They’ve done this all wrong. What started as a way to stave off boredom is different now, needs different rules. 

Eddie surges forward and kisses Richie. This is Eddie’s first kiss, not counting one he got from Mike at vacation bible school years and years ago that he didn’t count because Mike is a boy. Wait, maybe that counts now? 

This is Eddie’s second kiss and it’s wonderful. 

It’s wonderful even though Richie’s sweaty upper lip tastes disgusting and it’s wonderful even though Richie is probably mad at him for making him come in front of all of their friends. 

When Eddie comes, he does so all over Richie’s jean shorts. 

“Shit!” Eddie curses, chest heaving, body still quaking. Richie’s hand keeps stroking him and Eddie is going to lose his mind. “I’m sorry!” 

“Whatever, I came in them too. They’re a lost cause now anyway,” Richie tells him. He wipes the lingering come from the head of Eddie’s dick and flicks it across the room. 

It’s hard to read Richie’s expression. 

“You okay?” he hazards, knocking Richie with his knee. His cock is still out, just sitting between his legs. Richie is still just, holding it, which Eddie doesn’t dislike. 

“I don’t know,” Richie admits. He’s not looking at Eddie so much as staring at his dick. Eddie’s never really thought too much about his own dick before. It’s smallish and then it’s bigish. It’s pink and it feels good when he touches it. Whatever, it’s a dick. Richie looks at it like it’s a hand spun golden dick, a magic dick. 

Maybe Eddie will feel that way about Richie’s dick. Actually, just thinking about looking at it is making his stomach hurt, so probably. Probably he will really like looking at Richie’s dick. 

“Would it help if I ah—“ Eddie licks his lips. “If I touched it again?” 

“Touch what?” Richie blinks owlishly behind his glasses. They are absolutely filthy, so Eddie reaches up and takes them off his face. He rubs them clean on the hem of his t-shirt before sliding them back on his face. 

Richie touches the hinge on one side and blushes. “Thanks,” he says, and it’s so soft that Eddie blushes too. 

“Your dick though,” Eddie interrupts the moment. “Can I, you know,” and he mimes jerking off. Richie flushes deeper. 

“No, um. I think we should go to the quarry with the guys,” he says. Richie picks at his jeans and pulls an ugly face. “I gotta wash these off before I get home.” 

Eddie shrugs and crawls out of the hammock. He holds out his hand for Richie’s larger one and helps him out. They adjust their clothes, Eddie pulling his shorts back up over his cock and Richie wiping as much of Eddie’s come off his jeans as he can before he's just grinding it in. 

“Hey,” Eddie says. He pulls Richie in, tugging on the front of his shirt. He’s taller, always has been, and he leans into Eddie’s space. Eddie pushes up on his toes and kisses his cheek. It’s dewy, but it still sends a thrill up his spine. A couple of those bees in his brain flutter their wings. 

Eddie feels light years better than he did before this weird public sex thing started. He’s still sticky and hates the air and the weather and the summer heat and the way the lighting coming in from the hatch is barely light at all but his brain doesn’t seem to mind it so much. His blood is pulsing normally and his hackles are down. 

He likes sex. Crazy! 

“I like sex,” Eddie says. He kisses Richie again. “I like you. I like sex with you.” 

Richie laughs and kisses Eddie back. “Do you want to do it again some time?” 

Eddie nods, enthusiastic. “Maybe not in the hammock though.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the organizers of Reddie Week! I have loved seeing the art and the fics and it's just been a really nice event, thank you for organizing it! 
> 
> Thank you to Horse Cock Rights and to a couple of rad servers. Thank you to my roommates who are better at puns and are extremely patient with me. 
> 
> Thank you, finally, to Richie's foot fetish. I couldn't do it without you.


End file.
